


Parallelism

by pickledragon



Series: Pressing Matters [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Papyrus Has Issues, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Papyrus-centric, Sans Has Issues, Sans Remembers Resets, Sans-centric, a little bit of canonical character death but it's before the story, bit of suicidal thoughts but nothing comes of it, breakfast with a side of sibling love and idolizing the other, please just talk it out, you're welcome i made skeleton angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledragon/pseuds/pickledragon
Summary: Sometimes Papyrus wonders if the memories are even real, or just fabrications of his mind to fill up the already numerous holes.But he doesn't think even his mind could conjure up the bad timelines.Sans has never really been able to doubt. He simply takes note, learns. Moves forward.Whatever the case, they have a job to do.





	Parallelism

Papyrus opens his eyes to a red ceiling and the creeping feeling that he has just died. His hands shake as he rubs his scarf. It lies heavy on his chest. It's the third time in a row. 

Sans tears himself from the nightmare, eye flashing blue and bones scattering unevenly across the room. That... did not go well. He swings his feet over the side of the bed, his bones making a quiet clatter on the floor. 

_Day 1, Take 341._

Papryrus shakes his head and stands up, taking stock of the memories he was left with. Somehow, always the worst ones. Clear moments of cruelty or kindness or feeling the dust of everyone in Snowdin crunching under his feet.

Sans buries his skull in his hands, doing his best to inhale deeply without lungs. The trash tornado continues its quiet drone, like an anthem. Breathe in, breathe out. Try to remember. Vague impressions plastered all over every interaction. Deja vu. And of course, the nightmares. 

_His brother doesn't know. No need to worry him, when everything will just reset._

Papyus doesn't sleep. If he does, he'll forget. Too far back and the memories are just faint shapes, outlines of a lifetime lived without any evidence it ever existed. 

All Sans does is nap. If he stays awake, he'll never remember.

_The last run was one of the worst. The human took their time, spending at least a month dispatching more and more monsters, hidden away in safe houses or standing bravely to fight._

Papyrus runs his hands over the vertebrae in his neck. Not even a scratch to show for it. 

His jacket is spotless, ketchup packets intact. No damage.

_Would that make it better?_

There's no real way out but through. Sans has cut a few runs short, but he knows it's hell on his bro. Paps needs him. He needs Paps.

Papyrus is saving the CORE for Run 500. Papyrus knows Sans doesn't really need him that much. But he's selfish, he needs Sans more than he'll ever know. 

_And so he stays._

Papyrus digs out a calendar beneath his bed and checks off the new day. Writes some notes about the last reset that he knows will disappear from the margins. Back to the starting line, huh? Okay.

There's no indication of the date in his room, just some light streaming through his window. Sans needs to check the basement. Get some hard evidence. He takes a shortcut into the lab just to be sure. The machine spits out the data from the last run. Again? Okay. 

_At least he thinks he knows where this is going. These things tend to happen in threes, with the flower and with the kid. He might be in for a break._

Sometimes Papyrus wonders if the memories are even real, or just fabrications of his mind to fill up the already numerous holes.  
But he doesn't think even his mind could conjure up the bad timelines. 

Sans has never really been able to doubt. He simply takes note, learns. Moves forward. 

_Whatever the case, he has a job to do._

Papyrus dumps his box of bones into his bag. They settle nicely. Mixing physical attacks with magical attacks is always a transportation bother, but they do more damage, and keep him from having to use his special attack at all. And speaking of...  
It's still in the box, at the beginning of each run. Papyrus gives it a pat as he walks by.  
He'll never use it. 

Sans checks his magic levels. All full. Gaster blasters fine.  
Just in case. 

_Well. He's stalled long enough. Time to get up an at 'em. Put on the mask._

_Try not to dust this timeline._

He's relieved that Sans' isn't down yet. Papyrus is never up this late. He might think something's off. 

Papyrus navigates easily around the kitchen, pulling the least moldy containers from the fridge. After a second's thought, he pulls out a bottle of hard cider as well. They earned it. 

The noise of dumping spaghetti onto plates must be quite loud, because Sans appears not a minute later. 

He slides down the stairs, head somehow staying above the steps. Sans lands flat on the carpet and winks at Papyrus. "Morning bro." He wants to embrace him, check him for dust. Instead Sans just savors the moment. 

"Good morning to you too, lazybones!" Papyrus smiles back and chooses to ignore the dark circles under Sans' eyes. He hopes Sans does well enough without him. But Papyrus is smart enough to know that if the situation were reversed, he wouldn't last a week. "Did you sleep well?" 

Never. "Yup. It was easy, being so *bone* tired."

"I'm very ashamed, I have no brother, so on and so forth." Papyrus has heard this one dozens of times. In the beginning, each reset brought brand new puns. Nowadays, Sans just sticks to a couple. He probably just really likes those ones. 

Sans grins anyways. It's... comfortable. Back into old routines, remembering what makes the next few weeks and months afterwards worth it in the end. "I woke up pretty late, so I might just need to find something to *scarf* down."

Papyrus flashes a moderately disappointed look at Sans. That one is actually always a little funny.  
"No need to worry!" He crouches down to slide a fork and plate over to Sans. They haven't used the table in 50 resets. "Breakfast spaghetti is served!" Papyrus pours a small glass of cider for each of them, and makes his way over to sit by the lump of bones. 

What. Sans takes the glass with a worried look. "This early, Paps? Everything okay?" 

"Of course! I just forgot to go shopping, so there's not much in the fridge right now!" 

_They both know he bought milk last night. Or, a couple hundred last last nights, as it is._

Sans doesn't question the statement and downs the glass. 

Papyrus takes small sips while maneuvering his fork around the cold lumps of noodle. He tries to switch breakfast up every run, but he honestly should have used something other than old pasta. 

_He doesn't know the exact moment when it morphed from a ritual, a declaration of family to a mutual game of lies. Who's going to be the first to tell the truth? Or are they both going to sit in silence and chew their cold spaghetti?_

Option 2. 

Option 2, for sure. 

Papyrus starts mentally planning his route for the day. Check on each puzzle, avoid that one patch of ice he thinks he died by a couple runs ago, check in with Doggo. Nothing usually happens, but he's leaned never to be sure anymore. 

The pasta is horrible. Beside him, Sans turns the ketchup blue and pulls it staircase-ward from the kitchen. Papyrus sighs. Sans takes a small thrill in the utterly normal action. 

Papyrus hesitates. He reaches out and grips Sans' hand tightly. 

Sans squeezes back. 

_He missed him._

Papyrus breaks the silence. "It's going to be a good day, Sans. I know it." His voice lacks a bit of its usual enthusiasm but Papyrus doubts Sans will notice, his eyes drinking in his brother like he'll never see him again.  
Which, any run now, might just turn out to be true. 

"Absolutely, bro." Sans nods sagely. And he means it- mostly. He's learned to take instinct with a grain of salt. 

_The air is thick with unsaid words._

Papyrus is exhausted. 

Sans is so tired. 

_He doesn't want to be one to ruin it. Better that no one has to remember but him.  
He'll remember for everyone. _

Sans deserves to go to Grillbys, to think that his brother is the greatest, to tell bad jokes without the weight of years of resets where he's done the exact same thing. He doesn't need to know that Papyrus walks the same route to the human every time, for the same reasons, dust on his shoes or not. 

Papyrus needs to be protected, and keep his hopes of joining the Royal Guard, and cook his spaghetti. He doesn't need to know that Sans used to cry for him every time, but is now just numb or that the human's getting quicker every time they fight in Judgement Hall. 

_Or that nothing they do will ever matter. And yet, they do it._

One run, after a long string of Pacifist runs, seeing the Surface and getting it snatched away, Papyrus asks, "Sans, do you ever feel like... you've lived this day before?"

After a run when Paps becomes king and even Sans can see how heavy the crown is, and he would never admit it to himself but when it resets, he's relieved, Sans asks, "Papyrus, does the world ever just... stutter?"

_He panics. He doesn't try again._

Papyrus grabs Sans' plate when they're done, the spaghetti halfway gone. He tosses the dishes in the sink and hears a loud crash. Oh well. They'll be back next reset. 

Sans tops off his second glass of cider (he has always thought blue magic is great for bartending) and refills Paps'. 

"Guess this is the rest. Small bottle, but I guess we don't need much more. Cheers?"

"Cheers."

_They soberly drink the last bit of the cider together. It always burns going down._

"Ready to head off to another great day of work?" Papyrus slings his pack over his battle armor, fresher than it's been in a while. Another chance. 

"If you are, bro. This here's a *joint* operation." Sans hears Papyrus chuckle quietly, despite himself. Sans almost breaks, then and there. But he doesn't. 

Papyrus switches out the lights, Sans chases out the white dog that somehow appeared and ran off with the empty cider bottle. 

_They hold hands and step out the door._

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case: the italics are shared persepctives. 
> 
> tumblr: learningthomas.tumblr.com  
> Original content: pickledragonblog.weebly.com


End file.
